The Earl's Snow-Kissed Proposal

by Nina Milne

  Enough.

  Such thoughts were unproductive at best, depressing at worst. Now she had Cathy, and that was all the family she needed. She had Steph, other friends, a career—a life that she had built brick by painstaking brick.

  Etta lifted her shoulders. ‘But it is as it is, and I know I’m lucky to have her. Cathy is a fabulous girl—really together, caring, bright—’ She broke off. ‘Sorry, I sound like one of those dreadful mothers who goes on and on about their precious little darlings.’

  ‘No, you sound like someone who gets on well with her child, and that’s something to be proud of.’

  ‘Thank you. Cathy and I do get on well. That’s why I’ll miss her. Especially now, with the run-up to Christmas. We go a little Christmas mad—we decorate the flat to within an inch of its life and I get the biggest tree we can cram in. Oh, and last year we had an inflatable Rudolph on the patio. Hard to imagine, but there it is!’

  Embarrassment struck. This man was an aristocrat. His Christmases were undoubtedly posh, expensive affairs, and here she was rabbiting on about plastic tat.

  ‘Anyway, I’m sure your Christmas is far more sophisticated.’

  A shrug greeted the comment. ‘I’m not much of a Christmas person.’

  Etta blinked. ‘How can you not love Christmas?’

  ‘It’s not my thing.’ His expression was closed, as if he regretted his admission. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

  But it was a big deal. Christmas was about love and family and peace and goodwill. ‘So how are you going to plan a Christmas fair if you’re full of Bah humbug rather than Christmas cheer.’

  ‘That’s different. This fair has been an annual tradition at Derwent for the past one hundred and fifty years—since Victorian times. Which is why I am introducing a Victorian theme this year. It’s never been themed before, but I think it will attract bigger crowds, which will mean more money coming in. There will be re-enactors, Victorian games for the children...’

  His deep voice vibrated with enthusiasm, but more than that it resonated with determination that the fair would be a success—an extravaganza. Almost as if he wanted, needed to make a statement, to impose his own brand on the fair. Purpose showed on every hard plane of his face, and his attitude a far cry from that of an idle aristocrat. His sheer aura sent a frisson of an elusive something through her body.

  ‘It sounds incredible, and I’ll help in any way I can—especially as we’ve told the press that you’re hiring me as a consultant. Plus, I’ll need to get my Christmas fix from somewhere.’

  ‘But your priority is the family tree.’

  ‘Of course. The sooner I get started the happier I’ll be.’ In fact Etta realised she hadn’t given any thought to what happened next, because somehow since Gabe’s arrival into her life everything had moved so fast. Under his orders. ‘So the sooner we set off to Derwent Manor the better.’

  ‘We’ll go tomorrow. It’s better to stay in London tonight, until Ethan lets us know they are safely aboard. Just in case something unforeseen happens.’

  Panic clutched her, tightened round her chest. ‘You don’t think Tommy could...?’

  ‘Could have found out about the cruise? I don’t see how, but it’s best to be prepared for any contingency. If he is around, Ethan will deal with him.’

  Curiosity flickered. ‘So you and Ethan must be good friends?’

  Was it her imagination or did he hesitate ever so imperceptibly before he answered.

  ‘I only met him a couple of weeks ago. Cora knows the Cavershams well, so I asked her for an introduction in the hope of persuading them to give me an invitation to their Advent Ball. It snowballed from there.’

  Curiosity bubbled. ‘And on the back of that you asked him to drive Steph, Cathy and Martha to the cruise ship?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Etta waited, but clearly that was it.

  Instead of elaborating Gabe glanced at his watch. ‘If you’re ready we should leave now. The hotel is booked.’

  ‘I’ll pay for it. We’re only staying in London because of Cathy.’

  ‘It’s all part of the job package. The deal we have is all-expenses-paid, and we’ll be discussing the parameters of the job over dinner.’

  ‘But that doesn’t seem fair—really, I’d rather pay...’

  His eyebrows rose in a look of surprise that was almost comical—presumably he wasn’t used to women offering to pay their own way. Yet if she didn’t she would feel like one of those women, and the idea swirled in a conflict of sensation inside her tummy. His words still echoed her brain—‘Any time you change your mind and want to be my girlfriend—fake or otherwise—let me know.’

  Not happening.

  ‘Really. Really. Really.’

  Now amusement touched his face, and she knew he had read her mind. ‘And I’d really, really, really prefer to pay myself. Don’t worry—there is no hidden meaning to this. If it makes you feel better it’s tax-deductible.’

  Etta hesitated, then nodded. Perhaps she could have a word with Reception and work out a way to settle the bill once they got there.

  * * *

  As Gabe pulled into a space in a public car park in central Mayfair he glanced across at Etta. ‘It’s a minute’s walk from here.’

  ‘Where are we staying?

  Snapping his seatbelt undone, Gabe named one of London’s most prestigious hotels.

  ‘We can’t stay there.’

  ‘Why not?’ No woman he knew would pass up the opportunity.

  ‘Because it will cost a fortune.’

  ‘That is not your concern.’ Though the mutinous line of her lips indicated otherwise. ‘There’s little point in refusing—it’s booked and paid-for already.’

  Her eyes narrowed, but she unclicked her seatbelt and minutes later they emerged into the crisp, cold dusk. The streets were adorned by spectacular Christmas lights that arched over them in a glittering extravagant swirl of stars and planets.

  Etta exhaled on a gasp of wonder. ‘It’s incredible. Every year I forget how fantastic it is.’

  Every tree was festooned with brightly lit baubles. The smell of roast chestnuts mingled with the aroma of mince pies, and a group of teenage carol singers tinged the air with festive songs.

  As they joined the bustling throng of Christmas shoppers Etta paused outside each shop window. Every single one was filled with a different festive theme. One designer shop was festooned with greenery and foliage, and enormous red bows, and another was more minimalist, with hundreds of square white presents dangled in an eye-catching concentric design. Another boasted a tableau of angels and cherubs...another depicted an incredible ‘partridge in a pear tree’ ensemble, made up of different fabrics and beads. But Gabe derived more pleasure from the intent look on Etta’s face, as if she were taking mental photographs of each window.

  They approached the hotel, where eight abundantly lit gold Christmas trees filled the balustrade above the entrance. The windows blazed and sparkled with strings of dazzling lights, and liveried hotel staff waited to usher them through the ornate revolving doors and into the foyer.

  Etta stood stock-still as she gazed at the Christmas tree inside, and Gabe didn’t blame her. The enormous realistic-looking spruce was placed in the middle of a carousel straight from Victorian times. Each brightly painted horse seemed to have a character of its own, and each one somehow gave an illusion of movement. The tree itself towered over the signature sweep of the hotel’s grand staircase. Hundreds of blown glass ornaments rested amid the branches, and as he stepped closer Gabe could see that each one depicted an aspect of a funfair: a stick of candy floss, a windmill, a toffee apple, a hoopla ring...

  Next to him, Etta stirred herself out of her trance. ‘Awesome. I could stand and stare at it for hours.’

  ‘And you can. But l
et’s check in first.’

  They walked across the marbled floor to the impressive long reception desk.

  ‘Hi. I have a booking under the name of Derwent for a suite with two interconnecting rooms.’

  ‘Yes, I have that right here.’

  A bellboy hovered, took their bags and led them to the state-of-the-art lifts. He escorted them up to the eighth floor and opened the door of the suite.

  ‘I’ve got it from here,’ Gabe said, and waited until the youngster had gone before he took Etta through.

  Etta stepped into the enormous, beautifully furnished room and stopped. ‘This is amazing, but it isn’t necessary. You didn’t need to book a suite.’

  ‘It’s safer. My guess is that Tommy will head down to the Manor, but if he has tracked you to here I’ll feel better able to control the situation in a suite.’

  ‘But...I...’ Genuine worry creased her features into a frown.

  ‘I really don’t understand the problem. I can afford this.’ Impatience warred with the novelty of an implied accusation from a woman that he was spending too much on her.

  ‘I understand that, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but this morning at the press conference you waxed lyrical about Derwent Manor and your family, and your commitment to raising money for its maintenance. That’s what the Christmas Fair is about. Yet here you are, squandering Derwent money on this hotel when we could easily have stayed somewhere else at a fraction of the price. I understand that you work for the estate, but I don’t see how you can justify your lifestyle with your commitment to maintaining the manor.’

  ‘I’m not “squandering Derwent money”.’ Gabe exhaled a sigh, irritated to find that the judgement in Etta’s tawny eyes had touched a nerve. ‘I don’t draw my money from the Derwent Estate. I have my own investment business.’ He’d decided long ago that he needed independence from his parents, and it turned out he had a real financial flair. ‘The money I earn from that funds my lifestyle.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There was no mistaking her surprise—in fact her jaw had headed floorward and he gave a rueful twisted smile.

  Her tawny brown eyes, soft with contrition, held his as she stepped towards him. ‘I’m sorry. I made a judgement based on insufficient evidence. I had you down as nothing but a shallow playboy, living off Daddy’s money. Turns out that wasn’t the full picture.’

  Now she was closer, and one small hand reached up and rested on his forearm. The touch fizzed against the cotton of his shirt. The moment stretched, the scent of strawberry shampoo assailed his nostrils, and as she looked up at him, then closed the gap between them, the urge to kiss those full lush lips nearly overwhelmed him. The approval in her eyes warmed his skin and a warning flare was set off in his brain.

  He did not need Etta Mason’s approval. Annoyance banded his chest. There had been no need to tell her about his company, to volunteer information. As for the urge to kiss her—he’d be damned if he did. Etta had made it clear their mutual attraction was not welcome and he would respect that—wouldn’t risk spooking her. Not when the new family tree was on the line. The ball was in her court—it was her choice what to do with it.

  Stepping back, he kept his voice light. ‘Well, now you know. I’m a shallow playboy living off my own money.’ Another step back and he glanced at his watch. ‘Our table is booked in an hour, so I’ll meet you back here then.’

  For a second she stood as if frozen, then one slim hand rose and touched her lips. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Etta practically leapt across the room and dived into her bedroom. The click of the lock turning was more than expressive of her feelings.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ETTA STARED AT her flushed face in the enormous chrome-framed mirror that reflected a positively palatial art deco bathroom—white sinks embedded in beds of marble, snow-white towels hanging from gleaming heated rails... Somehow she had to get a grip. It was as if the surroundings had somehow turned her light-headed. The surroundings or the man who had provided them.

  Enough. She loathed these sensations he induced. Back in that empress-worthy lounge, with its sleek modern furnishings and sumptuous cushioned sofas, she had wanted him to kiss her. Again.

  Time to take control. No way—no way—would she lose her hard-won self-respect and throw herself at Gabriel Derwent. She would not give him any vestige of power over her—would not let these giddy feelings sway her, make her take her eye off what was important. She was a professional, a career woman, a renowned historian—not a foolish teenager as she had been with Tommy. When she had allowed feelings and sensations to override all sense and decency.

  Never again.

  That moment earlier had been an aberration—nothing more. Brought on by the emotional intensity of the past days and by yet another of her misconceptions about Gabriel Derwent being tumbled down. From now on in it would be professional all the way.

  One blissful shower later and she gazed at her wardrobe choice, then pulled out a midnight blue fifties-inspired evening dress. Perfect. Long-sleeved, with a straight demure neckline, and a fun flared skirt, cinched at the waist with a vintage belt.

  As she buckled her high-heeled Mary Janes her mobile rang.

  ‘Steph. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Everything is fine,’ her best friend said cheerfully. ‘Ethan got us here safely. No sign of Tommy and the cruise ship is awesome. The girls are in seventh heaven and I’m about to embark on a cocktail. So don’t worry about anything.’

  Ten minutes later Etta dropped her phone into her vintage evening bag and headed for the lounge. Bracing herself for the inevitable impact, she opened the door and instructed her lungs to breathe.

  Gabe stood by an enormous arched window against the magically lit backdrop of Mayfair. His blond hair glistened with the remnants of a shower, and she stood mesmerised as he shrugged a dark grey jacket over a pristine white shirt. The expensive material seemed to mould to the breadth of his shoulders and she gulped. Without her brain’s permission her gaze dropped to the triangle of skin at the apex of his chest and a small shiver ran through her.

  For a crazy moment she didn’t care about self-respect or professionalism. She wanted to walk across the room and press her finger over that patch of bare skin.

  Well, tough. That wasn’t happening.

  As he turned she forced her features into neutral and fixed a cool smile to her lips. There was a silence, and then, his jaw clenched, he stepped forward. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  ‘Right behind you.’

  And what a view that is, whispered a small, defiant unprofessional part of her as they descended the grand staircase.

  The hotel glowed with a mingling of wealth and Christmas cheer, and the sheer decadence of the art deco foyer was completed with a chandelier that threw out beams of diamond-white light that played and sparkled over the wreath-laden walls.

  Lights and baubles arched over the entrances, fluted pillars trailed tiny iridescent lights, and floral displays spread their magnificence over glass-topped tables and filled the air with heavenly scents. Just for a moment Etta relaxed, almost wishing this were a real date. Almost. After all, her track record with dates was hardly stellar.

  They walked towards the entrance to the restaurant—a curtained doorway that rippled with a dark green tasselled fabric. Etta stepped through and gasped...

  The vast vaulted ceiling gave the room an organic simple feel, and the predominant colours of green and brown gave the area an enchanted sylvan warmth. Walnut tables with slate placemats dotted the floor around the centrepiece—a bare-branched tree with stars hanging from every polished wooden limb.

  ‘This is fabulous,’ she said as a waiter led them to their table.

  As they walked she became aware of the looks directed at them—or rather at Gabe—and her step faltered slightly, t
hough he seemed oblivious.

  ‘Is it difficult?’ she asked, once they were seated on green leather chairs.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Being recognised all the time?’

  ‘You get used to it. My parents always taught Kaitlin and me to use the attention if we could, but also always to be aware of how our behaviour could impact upon the family image.’

  ‘What about Cora?’

  ‘Cora pretty much avoided any publicity—even as a child. My parents had to focus on Kaitlin and me as Derwent ambassadors.’

  ‘I’m with Cora on that one.’ Etta glanced swiftly around and resisted the urge to wriggle in her seat. ‘What about my behaviour? If I eat with the wrong knife will that impact on you?’

  ‘You’re looking at it the wrong way. You should be thinking how to use the situation to your advantage. Most women do.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit cynical?’

  Etta studied the menu. Her tastebuds cartwheeled, already jumping about in anticipation as she read the selection. Each item was a seasonal delicacy that offered local fresh produce with a twist.

  ‘No. It’s the truth. But I don’t mind if my date can score a bit of beneficial publicity—good for her. As long as she doesn’t lie or smear me in any way, I don’t begrudge her.’

  No wonder he’d assumed she would jump at the chance to pose as his girlfriend. ‘Well, I don’t want to exploit your name or your title. In any way. In fact I hope that the press were thoroughly diverted from the scent this morning. If April Fotherington saw us here she would definitely get the wrong end of the stick.’ The reporter was renowned for her ability to track down celebrities and unearth the juiciest of stories. ‘She has pulled off some pretty big celebrity scoops.’

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. ‘So you’re a celebrity gossip magazine reader?’

  ‘I’m not. Well, I am—but only because of Steph. She reads them avidly and I end up browsing through them too.’

  ‘You two are really close?’

  ‘Yup. Steph is like family.’ Her mind flashed to the birth parents she’d never known, to the adoptive parents who were now lost to her, and to the younger sister she’d barely got a chance to know. Close it down. ‘Like an older sister, really.’